Shelly Laurenston - Pack Challenge

To Maggie R. for showing me the way. Only your closest friends can take care of your pickup truck, Sissy.

And to Cypress B. for making sure I stayed on the path. You were there even when the light was at its darkest. “You are my Frodo.”

Waste of his time. That’s what this was. Minutes of his life that he would never get back. Zach walked into the club and was surprised to find a place like this, called Skelly’s, in this dinky little Texas town. Hard core industrial and tech music tore through the tiny club and Zach let himself relax a little. He had assumed he was about to enter redneck heaven. His kind usually ended up in the middle of a shit storm around rednecks. Too much testosterone and liquor always led to trouble.

He moved through the tightly packed club, checking out everyone, until he reached the bar. He watched the bartender pull drinks for a few moments. She was a cute, petite black woman with a shaggy mass of dark curly hair. She was definitely a pro and each drink she made was absolutely precise. She never gave any more or less than was necessary. Plus, she held on a continuous conversation with a tall, seriously hot Latina at the other end of the bar and she never missed a beat. Never splashed a drop. She was good.

He held up a ten and the girl moved down to him. He caught the last bit that she yelled to her friend, “I can’t watch her and serve. I thought you were watching her.” She turned to Zach and flashed him an adorable smile, “What’cha need?”

“Tequila.”

The girl nodded and her hand went searching under the bar, then her face froze. She suddenly disappeared as she crouched down to get a closer look. “Motherfucker!” He heard her snap. She re-appeared, her smile gone. “Gimme a sec.” She headed to a door behind her, yelling over at the Latina, “Angelina, she took the bottle.”

“Uh-oh.” The Latina turned and looked out across the dance floor to a group of tables and bar stools filled with people. Zach followed her line of sight and immediately saw what she was looking at.

She was tall; taller than her concerned friend. Her coal-black hair reached just below her shoulders and brushed across the strap of her black tank top and the Celtic tattoo revealed on her right shoulder. When she turned her head, Zach could clearly see a ragged scar that tore across one side of her face.

She was surrounded by four young men, but she didn’t seem to notice them. In fact, she seemed downright bored. He wasn’t quite clear what her friends were worried about.

“Here ya go.” Zach looked down at the shot of Tequila. “Your change.”

He waved it away. “Keep it.”

“Thanks.” She shoved the cash into the back pocket of her jeans and moved back down to speak to her friend.

“Well, we’ve got to do something.” She was saying. Zach could hear her clearly over the music and even the words she was speaking directly to the one called Angelina with her back to him came in crystal clear. “She’s toasted.”

“Well, remember what happened last time? I guess we should just be grateful she doesn’t drink every day… or year… or decade.”

“What’s with her tonight anyway?”

“I think her leg’s been bothering her.”

“Her leg is always bothering her. What makes this new?”

“It’s getting worse. And I think she’s worried. Worried what it might mean.”

“It doesn’t mean shit. She reads too much into stuff.”

Angelina leaned back and stared at her friend, “Look who’s talking. Pot, this is kettle calling.”

The girl flipped the bird and deftly made a martini all in one move. He was impressed.

“Uh-oh, Miki. She’s on the move.”

Zach turned back to the other girl. She slipped off the stool she had been perched upon and in the middle of some guy’s sentence simply walked away… well, it was more like she limped away. He had heard her leg had been severely damaged. But as she headed to what he was sure was the restroom, she used no cane or crutches.

He wouldn’t have thought another second about the whole thing except for the two men leaning against a far wall. They didn’t fit in, although they were desperately trying to. They wore black leather jackets, but brand new ones that looked as if they’d just been bought that day. The shirts they wore were black, but silk. The pants they had on were pleated. And their shoes? They were leather, expensive, and Zach wouldn’t put those things on his feet if there was a gun to his head. And as soon as she moved, they followed. Zach shot back his tequila then followed them all.

He had just pushed his way through the crowd and to the back of the club when he spotted them. One grabbed the girl around the waist, lifting her off the ground. A hand was slapped over her mouth and the three of them were out the back door. It happened so fast that none of the other patrons even noticed.

Zach burst into a run, knocking people out of his way, terrified he might be too late. He slammed through the back exit and spilled out into the alley. They had just thrown the girl down on the ground and one had his hand raised above her. To anyone else it would have looked as if he were going to slap her. But Zach knew that one swipe from that hand would rip the girl’s throat out. He snarled, forcing his canines to lengthen and grow. The two men turned and one roared in answer.

But before Zach could make any kind of move, the girl pulled a long, thin piece of metal out of her worn cowboy boot and stabbed up into the inside thigh of one of her attackers. He roared again, this time in rage and pain. The unharmed one seemed to realize that this was no longer a simple plan of killing the girl. She wasn’t going to die quietly. So, he grabbed his partner and the two sprinted from the alley, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Zach went over to the girl who, by now, had slipped the weapon back into her boot and attempted to pick herself up off the ground—clearly it was a chore. Zach sighed and grabbed her arm, easily hauling her up.

“Hey!” She looked up at him. From where he sat at the bar, he hadn’t realized exactly how pretty she was. Amazingly pretty. She had dark brown eyes that peered at him from under black lashes. Her skin was a light brown, with a hint of red. The brutal scar on one side of her face couldn’t hide her sharp cheekbones or full lips. In fact, it only enhanced them.

Her dark brown eyes were staring straight at him. “Pretty teeth.” She had a light Texan accent. Not as hearty as the others he’d been hearing on his ride from California. “Long.” Her right index finger was in his mouth. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t yet retracted his canines. She smiled at him. “You’re pretty too.” Wow, she was REALLY drunk. With a sudden surge of strength, she slammed Zach against the far alley wall. Then she was leaning into him, “I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you.” Zach had been called a lot of things in his lifetime, “pretty” had never been one of them. She growled as she smiled… uh, no… leered at him.

She kissed him. Her soft lips on his mouth; her tongue sliding past his teeth.

Their tongues connected and Zach had the sudden urge to take her right there, in the alley. And when he felt her hand slide down the front of his jeans and take firm hold of the bulge that was growing by the second, he knew he had to have this woman. Now. This minute. This very second. But before he could even put his arms around her, she was pulled away from him. Torn from him, was how he thought of it.